


An Unlikely Friendship

by Wistful_Wisp



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Normal Life, OC backstory, platonic, real life AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-13 03:08:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16884501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wistful_Wisp/pseuds/Wistful_Wisp
Summary: A couple children figuring life out, getting into trouble, and most importantly, having each other's backs.





	1. Mrs. Baggs' Bookstore

**Author's Note:**

> The Backstory to my Half-Elf Barbarian OC, Julian Moore, and my best friends Tiefling Rogue Liam Reed, before they got summoned into an alternate plane of existence.

The store was near silent, the smell of old books and older dust and the gentle wavering fluorescent light wasn’t a comfort for all. Even fewer could tolerate the volatile personality of Mrs. Baggs. A thick finger perused the spines of a dozen different novels, until landing on an interesting gold lettered title. It was scandalous that this remarkable beauty was hidden away in fiction, when in all actuality, the Folklore of the Pacific Northwest was quite possibly the most believable of all American Mythology. The clacking of heels caught Julian’s attention, and he dropped his finger from the book, and looked down the aisle. The clacking stopped. Then started again. The rug runners that ran up the aisle silenced her steps at odd intervals. Then she stopped, looking up the aisle with a glower on her face as she inspected him. Despite his repeated credibility, she refused to let anyone linger in the store for more than five minutes without checking up on them. Julian enjoyed imagining what had made her so suspicious. Perhaps a capricious old man stuffing books down his pants by the dozen and scurrying out the door before she saw? No one knew. Even the bagging clerks at the grocery store gossiped about her though. Mrs. Baggs moved on, seeking another target now. Julian released his breath, he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding his breath or that his palms were sweating. Why was he so nervous when he’d done nothing wrong? He didn’t know. “If you’re going to steal, steal from a corporate business, not Mrs. Baggs.” The voice terrified Julian. He took a spill to the ground, grasping for purchase and pulling a handful of books down on top of him. One conked him straight on the forehead. Mrs. Baggs’ footsteps couldn’t be heard. Julian hated the rug runners now more than ever. The ghoul that had scared him eyed down at him blankly. It was a boy, perhaps around the same age as Julian. He had mousy brown hair and wore a pair of jeans in disrepair, as well as a t-shirt with a skull on it, the words ‘Game Over’ were emblazoned over the skulls eyes. He held a book with an old, white cover on it in his hand against his hip. Julian had never seen him before, but that wasn’t surprising. Julian wasn’t a social boy. 

“Please...don’t scare me like that.” Julian wheezed, patting his pockets in a desperate hunt for an inhaler, grasping it finally in the too-large pockets of his khaki pants and taking a shaky pull from it. 

“Don’t steal from the only good bookstore in town.” the boy replied, dryly. It didn’t even sound like he cared, it sounded like he just wanted to poke fun. Then he heard them. The heels. He scrambled to his feet, patting himself off and smoothing his mess of red hair down, shoving his inhaler back into his pocket. 

“Mister Moore!” Mrs. Baggs called from down the aisle. Julian shook, picking up the books he’d pulled down and shoving them back onto the shelf. His eyes caught the other boy, who watched with casual disinterest. Julian was beginning to get suspicious. He had to be a supernatural entity. There was no way any human could act this...emotionless. Julian swallowed in vain at the lump in his throat, looking back to see Mrs. Baggs steadily approaching before turning his head back to the boy. 

“Are...you a ghost?” He asked, in all seriousness, his brows furrowed and eyes hard. The boy cracked half of a grin just as Mrs. Baggs grasped Julians arm and yanked him around to face her. 

“Just what are you two getting up to? Upsetting the whole store, knocking books over, making a ruckus. I will not have loud customers, the both of you should know that by now.” She chastised, not leaving a moment for either of the boys to put a word in. 

“I scared him.” The boy replied, clearly taking both responsibility for his actions, and helping Julian out, despite not even knowing him. Julian watched, wide-eyed and full of shock as Mrs. Baggs fumed, debating her punishment for him. She quickly closed the distance between them, clouting him gently about the head and pulling the book from his arms. 

“I’ll not have you making a mess of my store with your mischief. Out with you, Mister Reed.” She shoved, and pushed, and it didn’t take much because Mr. Reed was fully cooperative, but she wanted to make a big deal out of it. Once she hit the door, she shoved extra hard, pushing him onto the sidewalk of the town square. She seemed to process something a second later, pausing like a computer attempting to buffer. “Is that?” She looked up and down the street. “Cigarette smoke on your clothes?” She asked. He pulled a cigarette from his pants pocket and pressed it to his prepubescent lips. Mrs. Baggs gasped in horror. “Liam Reed, I will phone your parents this instant!” Mrs. Baggs wagged her finger at him, as if scolding a dog. “You are not to come round no more until you get rid of that disgusting habit, you hear?” 

“Sue me.” Liam said, pulling a lighter from the very same pocket and lighting the cigarette and turning heel to stride away with the lazy gait of a boy who had not a single care in the world. Julian watched with the same mystified awe of Mrs. Baggs. 

“Don’t you ever hang out with that little punk, Mister Moore. He’s the worst influence in town.” She hissed, making her way back to her desk and jotting down a note on a post-it. She was steaming, and Julian knew better than to disturb her. He spent thirty more minutes searching the fiction section for any peculiar books, before moving to religion. There he plucked a book on Egyptian Mythology from the shelf, and headed to the desk. Mrs. Baggs began checking him out, under his grandmother’s account. Mrs. Baggs was good friends with Old Lady Monroe, and let him keep up a tab. 

“Mrs. Baggs?” The woman looked over her glasses at him with an inquisitive look. “Can I see that book?” He pointed to the dingy white covered book sitting where she’d tossed it out of anger onto her desk. She narrowed her eyes, certain he was not about to heed the warning, but nonetheless, handed it to him. “Who’s Jean-Paul Sartre?” Julian asked, pressing the novel open. Mrs. Baggs sighed, pursing her lips. She wanted to help, but she didn’t want to spark another young man's interest in something as dour as...Marxism. It was bad enough to have that Reed boy prowling the philosophy aisle. 

“A French Philosopher, Julian.”

“Can I buy it?” 

“...are you really interested in such a thing? Or are you simply going to try to befriend that Reed boy?” Julian didn’t reply for a moment. 

“...can I buy it?” He repeated, quieter. Mrs. Baggs sighed, and bagged both books up. “Have a nice evening.” Julian called, exiting the store as she took down a notation in her ledger, grumbling about kids these days all the while. 

Liam was obviously long gone by the time that Julian made it out of the store. The street lights were starting to turn on, which was bad news. He ducked back inside the store. “Can I call my mom, Mrs. Baggs?” Mrs. Baggs groaned.

Marge shut the door behind her, locking it and settling her purse down near the door on a bureau table. Mitch sat in the Lazy Boy angled at an angle where he could comfortably see the front door, as well as the kitchen. “Lost track of time at the bookstore?” Mitch asked, folding his newspaper. “Get anything interesting?” Julian’s parents weren’t the sort to get angry easily. They were happy if he was happy, and he often was so long as he had his books and his family. Julian held the book on the Egyptian Pantheon aloft, and Mitch squinted through his glasses, pursing his lips and nodding. “Sounds interesting, pal. Thought you were looking for books on American Mythology though? Something you could hunt?” Mitch asked. Julian shrugged. 

“The one book they had was on the Pacific Northwest.” 

“What’s the other one?” Mitch asked, Marge slipped past Julian to hang her coat on the rack and continued towards the kitchen to begin preparing dinner. Julian held the Jean-Paul Sartre book aloft, then, fumbling to shove the Egyptian book back in the sack as he did so. Mitch let a look of confusion cross his face. “Looks interesting, what is it?” 

“Being and Nothingness, by Jean-Paul Sartre.”

“Sounds...hm. Who was Jean-Paul Sartre?”

“A French Philosopher, says Mrs. Baggs.” Mitch was lost, he didn’t know what to say and it showed. “It sounded interesting, Mrs. Baggs didn’t really want to sell it to me though. I’m going to go work on my homework.” Julian slipped away and up the stairs, darting directly into his room and closing the door. He’d left his project out because it was getting to big to hide, and he was afraid of the yarn tangling. It was a comically large scarf, from his Dads favorite TV Show, Doctor Who. His dads birthday was in a week, and Julian just had to finish it before his birthday. So he sat his books down, shrugged his backpack off, and got to work. His mind kept going back to that weird boy he met at the store. His mind kept trying to identify what sort of entity he could’ve been. “A Vampire? No, he walked straight into daylight!” He pursed his lips and continued thinking. “A ghost is off the table, he was able to hold a book and be shoved by Mrs. Baggs.” Then he realized he’d messed up the last five stitches and decided to not think about supernatural beings while knitting. Instead he turned on his radio and listened to 101.3 ‘Top Hits of the 80s’. He wanted to run a radio show. They all seemed so happy when they talked about their lives and joked around, or when they talked about music or celebrities. Julian wanted to be a talk show host. He didn’t even bother looking at the mirror. 'Not a television talk show. A radio one.' He thought to himself.


	2. Mitch's Birthday Party PT.1

August 21st. Father’s birthday; today Mitch Moore would be 38 years old. Julian had put almost every minute of extra time since July into his father's birthday present. A replica scarf from his father's favorite show. Marian made him a clay mug in her art class, with “#1 Dad.” painted in elegant handwriting. His mother agreed to pick them up early from school, only ten minutes so, on her way back from picking Mikey, his little brother, from daycare. Marian was meeting him at the exit, and he sped towards the office. He’d given the note to the secretary, Mr. Adams, early this morning, but he still needed to make her aware of him actually leaving before he could get out the door. As he slipped into Mr. Adams office, he heard a heated voice that made him pause. Coming from the Principal's office, a door you could only access through Mr. Adams Office. Mr. Adams was missing, so all he could do was wait...and listen. “Mister Reed, I do not think you’re taking this seriously enough.” Mrs. Daniel scolded. It couldn’t be. It absolutely could not be the same…”You realize if you do not take school more serious, you’re going to fail the sixth grade, correct?” Her voice softened in a matronly manner. Julian, had personally never seen her angry, but he was a model student; quiet, eager to learn, agreeable.... “I’ll call your mother, to pick you up.” 

“She’s not going to pick up anyway.” Mister Reed, Julian guessed, piped up. He sounded rather defeated. 

“Mister Reed…” Mrs. Daniels said, trailing off and obviously losing herself to frustration for a moment. Julian, however, didn’t hear what else was said, because the footsteps behind him caught his attention. Mr. Adams choked on his coffee as he rounded the corner to see Julian standing before his desk. 

“You should..oh no.” The door pressed open and Mr. Adams gave a wide smile, leaning against the desk as if he hadn’t only just showed up as Reed strode through the office. Julian turned to see a puffy eyed boy, who scowled and shrunk as soon as he realized he was being looked at. Reed scuttled out of the office, heading for the door. 

“What do you know, there she is. Guess she picked up the phone before you even made the call.” Reed said, bitterness grasping each word as he strode out the door. Mr. Adams nearly dropped his coffee, running after the boy who he could absolutely not allow to just walk out. The familiar sound of a phone clicking into its receiver came, and a couple seconds later a finely manicured hand clasped onto Julian’s shoulder. 

“What can I do for you, Julian?” She said, smiling down at him with ruby red lips. 

“I...my mom is supposed to be picking me up.” Julian croaked. It was silent for only a second but it stretched on uncomfortably. 

“Ah, yes, I remember now. You’d best be skedaddling, then.” She said, releasing his shoulder and ushering him from the office. “And, Julian?” Julian slowed his steps, looking back to see her hanging halfway out of the doorway. “Please keep what you’ve heard to yourself. Liam will tell those he wishes to know.” She said. Julian nodded slowly, before turning back to the door and pulling it open. It would appear that a winded Mr. Adams now sat on the bench with Liam, Julian didn’t want to walk past him. Julian didn’t even want to walk out the secondary set of doors. But he really wanted to get to his mom before she came looking for him. He looked at his calculator watch. ‘2:59’. He was supposed to meet up with her near the highschool office five minutes ago. She’d be hunting soon. Julian inhaled deeply, pressing the push bar on the door and striding with all the confidence of a gazelle in a lion den out onto the cracked sidewalk. 

“Moore!” Mr. Adams called to him, he was not even three steps out, but the man was sitting next to a pissed off youth and very clearly desperate for an icebreaker. “Big day, big day, tell your father I said happy birthday, okay?” He called. 

“Okay.” Julian replied, nodding hastily. “I would save you a piece of cake, but it’d probably get smushed on the bus.” he added awkwardly. 

“Don’t worry about it, but Marge’s cakes really are the best. Your birthday is in a couple weeks too, isn’t it? Busy month.” 

“Thank you, Steven.” A closing of a door no one had heard open. “Of course it is, two weeks exactly after his father's, he was due today though!” Marge called, she’d just pressed her way from the High School building and was now crossing the gap between them. “Where have you been, Julesy?” Julian cringed visibly. 

“I just...I got caught up, okay?” 

“We have got to HUSTLE, sweetheart. I’ve still got to ice the cake.” She said, coming close enough to grasp Julian’s shoulder now. “It’ll get icky if you let the icing sit on it for too long, and we wouldn’t want that, would we?” She grinned to herself, the brick size clutch she carried around in lieu of a purse swinging as she began leading him back into the high school. This was the very epitome of embarrassing. “Bye, Steven! I’ll make sure to make a cake for our next PTA meeting, alright dear?” She said, grinning over her shoulder. Mr. Adams smiled and held his coffee up in a half-assed wave. 

“Bye Liam!” Julian choked, even he was uncertain why. He just....wanted to be that kids friend. So much. He didn’t want Liam to remember him as the one with the overbearing mother. 

“...Bye.” Liam called as the door closed. Marge stopped, brow furrowing. 

“Dear, is he quite alright?” She sounded heartbroken. Julian didn’t know how much he should say. Mrs. Daniel had practically sworn him into secrecy, after all. “Dear?” 

“He’s...had a pretty rough day I think?” Julian tried, awkwardly, to put it as simply as possible. Marge began shuffling through her clutch, rummaging for something. 

“Here, these always make my days better! Go give him this for me while I go check on Mikey, will you?” It was one of those strawberry candies, that no grocery store ever sells but every older woman always has in their purse. Marge didn’t wait for an answer. She turned heel in her Sketchers Shape-Ups™ and began power walking to the other exit of the building. It was likely she would be stopped by at least three teachers or staffers to talk. This gave Julian some time. Now he just had to decide if he would stand here, and lie to his mother about delivering the candy she’d given him, or actually go give the coolest kid he knew a cheap candy his mother had been carrying around in a clutch for god knows how long with the lame excuse of trying to cheer him up. “HUSTLE, we’ll be waiting.” He heard Marge shout from down the hall. With a sigh of reluctance, he stepped from the building and out onto the covered sidewalk again, Mr. Adams was standing now, still in silence. Liam started with his jaw set into the parking lot. 

“Liam.” Julian called, causing Liam to turn his tired, dull eyes his way. “My. My mom. Wanted me to give you this.” He held the candy out in a cushion-y palm. 

“Oh! Strawberry Bon Bons! Those’re the best.” Mr. Adams tried to get in on the conversation. Actually no, it wasn’t actually a conversation, it was just kind of...talking. Nevertheless, both Julian and Liam turned to regard him with the confusion and lack of amusement of every preteen. Mr. Adams nodded awkwardly, looking back to the parking lot. 

“Anyway, I should...go.” Julian thumbed towards the door but stopped halfway, remembering the book he had purchased. The book that he had in his bag. He stopped and dropped his backpack, unzipping it. “I bought this-” He paused, realizing how awkward buying a book you saw a cool kid interested in sounded. “I bought this.” he repeated, trying not sound like a stalker. “I’ve already read most of it...but you can have it. I hope your mom doesn’t take too long to get here.” He sat the book down on the bench beside Liam, before turning back to zip his bag up and sling it over his shoulder. “I...won’t tell anyone. I promise.” Julian offered him a reassuring smile before starting before starting back towards the door. He jogged - poorly - through the building, arriving at the opposite exit and North parking lot out of breath, to see Marge parked in front of the building in their 2002 white Ford Explorer. Marian sat in the passenger seat, already buckled up. Mikey sat in his car seat in the back, throwing cheerios all over the place. As Julian opened the door and sat down, cheerios crunched under him, making it apparent that he’d been throwing the cereal for a long while. The car ride home, is quiet. Other than Mikey, but because toddlers are essentially always screaming, everyone learned to begin thinking about that as the new quiet. 

However, when they arrived home, Mitches Cadillac Seville was already in the driveway. “Oh gosh dangit!” Marge smacked the steering wheel before pulling in. “I wanted to get that darn cake iced before he got home.” She sighed, shaking her head as she put it into park. “I’m just going to wring his pretty little neck if he purposefully asked to get off early, you know that?” She said to no one in particular, turning the car off and unbuckling with a handful of jingling keys. Marian looped around the car to get Mikey out of the car seat, Marge sighed with relief and booked it for the front door. Julian took another moment to remember the excitement of the day. Today was the day that he’d finally get to give that scarf to his dad! He’d had to work so hard to keep the project hidden from his father. Mitch, of course, knew his son had taken up knitting, and while finding it a bit of a strange hobby for a 12 year old boy, he didn’t say anything. Julian scrambled inside, waving to his dad and barking. 

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” Before practically rolling upstairs. The package laid perfectly wrapped (by Marge) on his bed, where he’d left it that morning for her to tend to. He threw his bag to the corner of the room, grabbed the package and slipped his shoes off in one movement, and rushed back downstairs. Marian was just now making it inside with Mikey, leaving him in the living room as she made her way upstairs, Mitch was getting chastised by Marge. Life was normal. Life was good. Something felt wrong though. The energy of today; sapped. It couldn’t just be concern for a boy he hardly knew. Something was wrong, and he knew it had to be something big.


	3. Mitch's Birthday Party PT.2

“It’s not like I’ve never seen you ice a cake before, Marge!” Mitch tried. 

“That’s not the POINT.” Marge replied, shoo-ing him out of the kitchen. Which, was an open concept and entirely visible from the living room. Mitch exhaled deeply, returning to his lazy boy, where he’d been sitting when they entered the house. 

“Whatcha got there, champ?” Mitch asked, hunting for the television remote and muting it. “You know you didn’t have to get me anything, right?” He said, like all fathers feel the need to. Mitch always insisted that he never needed anything except love and happiness from his children. It’d kind of been tradition that they only made him things anyway though. First macaroni art, then chunky beaded bracelets, and so on and so forth until they were actually old enough to make decent things. Julian wanted to be excited to give him the scarf, but there was too much negative energy in the room. Maybe the house was haunted. What was it that Grandma Be-Be always said got rid of ghosts again? 

“Hey dad?” Julian set the present down on the table. Mitch grunted in response. “Was it sorrel or sumac that Grandma used to get rid of that Civil War doctor that kept knocking the China Cabinets over?” Silence. 

“I...can’t say I remember, sport. She’ll be here in just a minute, though.” Mitch was always lost when it came to the paranormal. And the supernatural. Pretty much anything that wasn’t finance reports and sports. This was pressing though. If there was a ghost it could bum everyone out, best case scenario, and worst case scenario...no he wouldn’t think about that. Julian stepped to the home phone, dialing the number by memory. It rang. And rang. And rang. Voice-mail. 

“Hey, Grandma, it’s Julian. I needed to ask for some assistance with a ghost problem. Love y-” Halfway through leaving his voice mail, the phone was picked up. 

“Hello dear, sorry, I thought you were that damned Mrs. Goldsberry calling again. She complained about my grass height for fifteen minutes the other day and I just- I’m sorry dear, you said you had a ghost issue, rather pressing issue then? Sprinkle some Star Anise across the thresholds of the house, after grinding them up in the pestle and mortar, and throw a spoiled apple in the basement. I, I assume you have identified that it is indeed a ghost, yes? If it’s a poltergeist it will become enraged and rip the nearest kidney from the nearest body. Don’t want that. Especially not on Mitch’s birthday, he’s already given one kidney, you know.” Beatrice fell quiet, waiting for a response. 

“Nice try, grandma. Poltergeists are afraid of kidneys.” Julian chuckled, knowingly. “But it’s definitely a class one spectre. The only thing it’s capable of is making people sad.” Julian replied. 

“Of course, dear, of course. The star anise should be enough, but a spoiled apple for good measure. I’ll bring one for you. I’ll see you momentarily, Julian, love you.” Beatrice said. 

“Love you too, grandma. Drive safe.” He replied, hanging up the phone before venturing into the kitchen to find the star anise and his mortar and pestle, which he received as a birthday present just this year. The All-Seeing Eye of Horus was engraved upon it. He ground the weird little seeds up, his mother busy beating frosting into a froth beside him and not commenting upon whatever shenanigans he was about to engage in. Then he sprinkled some on the kitchen window, the kitchen door, the basement door, the front door, the back door, his bedroom door, Marians bedroom door, his parents bedroom door, Mikey’s bedroom door, the linen closet, the bathroom door, and his bedroom window. He didn’t want to venture into each bedroom to sprinkle the window sills, but he deemed that he must. Marian was in her room, so all he needed to do was knock. She came to the door, quirking a brow. “Sprinkle this on your window sill.” He said, holding handful of the ground star anise out. Marian rolled her eyes and took it. He had a gut feeling she wasn’t going to, but perhaps one threshold didn’t matter. So he made his way back downstairs, and cleaned his mortar and pestle, settling it back under the counter just as the doorbell rang. Julian sprinted for the door. It’d been so long since he’d seen his Grandma in person, she lived a bit far away for a bike ride, and everyone was always too busy to take him. He grabbed the door handle and whipped the door open, grinning until he saw who it was. His grin fell, and Benedict bent double, hands on his knees so he was at eye level with Julian. 

“Hey, dumbass.” Ben ruffled Julians hair, stepping past him and into the house. Ben was twenty two and the biggest asshole Julian knew. None of the bullies at school compared to this jerk. When he moved out to go to college, Julian rejoiced. He hadn’t seen him in nearly eight months, he only returned when he needed something. “Ma!” Ben shouted, and Marge squealed, running out in a powdered sugar stained apron to give him a hug. Ben had been born with all the good genes. No red hair. Instead he had Mitches brown hair. He didn’t have freckles, or skin so pale it could reflect sunlight. He didn’t have asthma or acne or a gap in the teeth. He was a football player, and popular in school and made Julian so angry. He smoked, and he drank, yet whenever Benedict was around, he was the star child. This was what the negative energy was. It was the protection runes straining to protect. It was the sage in the vents struggling to cleanse. Julian cringed at how much star anise he’d wasted. It was expensive. The doorbell rang again, despite the door not even being fully closed from Ben’s untimely arrival. Beatrice stood behind the door, a casserole in hand. 

“I have arrived! The apple is in my purse dear.” She said, patting him on the head as she walked by. “Oh dear.” She hushed as she saw Benedict. “I fear I’d almost forgotten your face Ben! Certainly I have forgotten your voice, could you not stand to call more?” She chastised as she made her way into the kitchen. Marian was returning downstairs now, wrapped present in hand. Mitch stood, scooping Mikey off the floor and clutching him to his side as he too went into the kitchen. Julian stood by the door, hair still disheveled. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want his father to open his present. He didn’t want Ben here. He didn’t want Benedict to know he knitted. He didn’t want this at all. 

“Alright, alright!” Marge called. “Casserole first, then cake, then presents!” She declared. “Come on, Julesy, time to eat.” 

“I’m not hungry.” Julian replied, closing and locking the front door - as per usual - behind him before starting into the living room. 

“Finally serious about the dieting thing.” Ben replied, winking towards Julian as he scooped up a plate of freshly served casserole. “Only a couple good years to get it off, anywho.” No one said anything. No one ever said anything. He slipped onto a bar stool, spinning back towards the rest of the family. Julian scowled, contemplating grabbing the present from the table and locking himself in his room until Ben left. That might just make Ben happier though. Instead he sat on the couch, arms crossed. 

Five minutes passed before Beatrice came to his side, her arm wrapping around his shoulder and a hand with clunky rings on each finger grasping his around his shoulder. “Is it the ghost, dear? Has it set your mood ajumble?” She asked. In response, he cast his eyes to Ben, who was now showing Marge a tattoo...much to Marge’s horror. “Ah.” Beatrice replied. “I understand. I will do what I can to assist. If you let him ruin your day, if he receives no satisfaction from teasing you, he will stop it, surely.” She replied, kissing him on the side of the head before standing and making her way back into the kitchen to assist with the lighting of thirty eight candles. Julian got up, he was at least going to sing his dad happy birthday. Ben stood behind Julian as they sang, and Julian wondered if Benedict knew how much he hated him. Julian wondered if Ben thought he was a good brother, if all those jokes seemed funny to him, if all the years of getting Julian in trouble had seemed like protection at the time. Mitch blew the candles out, seemingly happy but undoubtedly crumbling inside as he realized just how old he was getting. He’d been halfheartedly joking about his old age all week, Julian couldn’t understand why he was so upset about it. Isn’t this the goal of life? To have a home, surrounded by people you love? He’d never understand this world, he didn’t think. Cake was dived up, to everyone except Julian. He didn’t receive any because he hadn’t had any casserole, he didn’t need that explained but Marge still explained. Today was getting annoying. He zoned out, staring at the wall and imagining himself elsewhere for the meantime. 

“Man, good cake ma. That was worth the trip, right there.” He said, but received no reply save for a shaming purse of the lips from Marge. “Gift time, I guess. Hope you don’t mind that I got you straight A’s, old man.” Ben said, leaning against the kitchen island as Beatrice and Marge began putting the leftovers away. 

“I’ll believe that when I see it.” Mitch replied, giving a laugh as he playfully popped his son in the arm. 

“Bluff called.” Ben sighed. “Let me run back out and get your present, I’ll be right back.” Ben jogged from the room, unlocking the door and slipping out onto the street. Marge brought Mikey into the living room again, sitting him on the floor facing the bureau table where the presents had been piled. Beatrice pulled a terribly small wrapped item from her purse, perhaps jewelry? And sat it on the bureau just as Ben stepped back through the door. He held a medium size box, and sat it on the bureau as well. 

“First off, I want to say that none of you had to do this, but I am grateful to have such loving children...and mother.” He cocked a grin, grabbing Marians mug first and unwrapping it with no hesitation. He offered her a hug and sat it aside, grabbing Beatrice’s box next. Unwrapped, it was discovered to be a large, flat, circular stone carved with a sigil that Julian knew to be Vesvigir, a wayfinder rune for the Nords for safe passage. 

“I made it to hang in your car, I’ve been hearing about so many car accidents lately, I’m just scared half to death.” Beatrice said, and Mitch smiled for her. 

“Thank you, mother.” He settled it beside the mug and grabbed the package that Ben had just brought in, unwrapping it and chuckling immediately. It...appeared to be a trophy...clearly not handmade, but it read ‘Most Coffee Drank in the Tri-State Area.’. Hilarious. Ben went in for a hug before Mitch even finished laughing, then stepped back. It was very clear that Ben wanted something. Lastly, Mitch grabbed the flat package that contained the scarf, he unwrapped it, nearly dropping it as he did so and then grinned widely. It wasn’t perfect, a couple loose stitches here and there, but it was rather good, Julian thought. “I only need a fedora now! Do you think the Doctor would be upset with me if I dressed as him?” He chuckled, stooping to hug Julian. 

“He’s been working on his knitting for a month, isn’t it lovely?” Marge asked, to anyone. 

“I love it.” Mitch replied, wrapping it around his neck, despite the A/C being on. Ben was already grinning at Julian. Gods only knew what he was going to say to him once they weren’t within earshot of their parents.

The rest of the night was spent in half truths, small talk, and Benjamin beating around the bush about how his classes were going. Beatrice sat with Marge on the sofa, talking about the PTA and City Gardening club in hushed tones. Then Marian retreated upstairs to do her homework. “I’ve got some too, is it okay if I go to my room?” Mitch, of course, nodded. Education came first and foremost in his eyes. 

“If you need any help, maybe Ben can help you?” Mitch added, fumbling with the television remote to turn it on. Ben shrugged. 

“Sure thing, just ask.” 

“Yeah. Right.” Julian nodded, then started upstairs. Where he sat, staring at the driveway where Ben had parked his 1996 Ford Taurus. It’d seemed like it’d been ages since he’d visited. Last time he did he outed Julian for the stick of eyeliner he found in his room. The time before that he’d exposed the fashion magazine Julian had hidden in his desk drawer. He had a knack for finding things Julian didn’t care for his parents to know. He had a knack for putting those things in the worst light. He had a knack for getting Marge and Mitch all ruffled, just for the hell of it. What would Ben say about all the knitting supplies around his room? What would Ben say about the countless cassettes with bad recordings of Julian telling a fictional audience about strange oddities from his favorite book? Julian didn’t know, he hadn’t considered that Ben might visit so soon. His eyes burned into the Taurus sitting parked on the curb outside. Then he turned gathering any and everything that’d be considered...abnormal and shoving it into a shoe box, staring breathlessly at the carelessly tossed possessions piled atop each other before putting the lid on it and shoving it below the bed. 

Then the door creaked open, and Ben’s head tilted to the side. An amused, curious expression on his face. “Odd place to keep your homework.” He said, stepping inside and closing the door.

“Get out.” Julian snapped, pushing himself to his feet. 

“You don’t...you don’t mean that, truly. Mom always says if you don’t have anything nice to say, then don’t say it at all.” 

“Yeah, well why don’t you listen so we can all have some peace and quiet?” 

“Man, you must have something under there that you really don’t want me to see.” Ben sat on the side of Julians bed, leaning on the post of the footboard and eyeing the furious, angsty pre-teen. 

“I just, hate you rifling through my shit.” 

“Bad word! Mom would wash your mouth out with soap you know.” Ben grinned playfully but Julian just rolled his eyes. “You don’t have a pair of mittens or something for me? Or is that what I’ll get for my birthday?” Julian was quiet, losing interest in actually replying to him. “So, did you actually have homework or did you just lie to get away from me?” 

“I figured after Bethany ditched you’d know when someone was lying to get away.” Ben was to his feet in a second looking down at Julian with the exact confidence of a man seven years older and half a foot taller than his opponent. 

“Want to say some shit again?” He hushed, quiet enough that Marian wouldn’t hear. Julian took a step back, as he did Ben stooped and shoved the box out onto the open floor, pulling it into his arms. Julian lurched forward to attempt to pry it from his hands just as Ben cast a glare down. “Hm, some loser shit.” he tossed the yarn out of the box. “Seriously, what are you? The seventy year old caretaker of a couple dozen cats?” The knitting needles hit the wooden floor with a clatter. “Cassettes? ‘Cryptids 101.’, this is why you don’t have friends, Dorothy.” He rolled his eyes, tossing it to the ground as well. At this point there wasn’t much left in the box, another eyeliner pencil that evidently didn’t deserve a comment as he tossed it aside. A couple pieces of paper, some shoe lint. Julian, was already crying, angry tears. He was so sick of this. He’d all but forgotten the notes he’d stuffed into the box. “Little love letters?” Ben teased, pressing one open. “Gross, to a guy?” Ben trailed off, squinting and turning his lips down. “Dear Liam, I know we haven’t talked much, but I was wondering if you’d want to hang out sometime. -The Ginger Who Gave You Candy.” He read in a mocking tone. 

“You’re such an asshole!” Julian had his fist already balled, but lacked the courage to actually sock his brother. Then the door clicked open, and both of them turned to see the apathetic face of their sister. 

“Cut. It. Out.” Marian snapped, stepping into the room and yanking the box from Benjamin’s hands. “He’s a kid, and your brother. Try treating him like it.” She stooped to begin picking up the things that had been scattered to the floor. Just as Marian had stood straight and offered the box to Julian, another voice entered the fray.

“Who was it.” Marge, coming through the door with narrowed, suspicious eyes. “Who yelled the butt word in my home.” She seemed to wilt a bit when she saw her three children standing about, Julian crying with a box of his things in his hand. 

“It was me.” Marian said, giving her mom a soft smile. “I lost my temper, I’m sorry.” 

“Why is Jules crying? Julesy, why are you crying?” 

“I...knocked his box out of his hand, I think one of his cassette tapes broke.” Ben said. It was silent for a moment. The air was thick with tension, who knew if Marge would smell the lies, or if she would believe her loving children. 

“Well.” Marge began, pursing her lips and shaking her head. “I’m sure we can get you some more tapes, Julesy, maybe Ben will buy you some.” She replied, smiling before turning her gaze to Ben and Marian. “Come on, let’s go downstairs for a pinch.” She said, with a deceivingly soft smile. The three left, leaving Julian alone. He’d always been close with Marian, she was two years older than he, so they grew up as friends. Ben was...always too old or too cool to be friends with them. Ben didn’t want to sully his reputation by hanging out with his younger siblings. They’d never been close and he’d never understood how siblings were supposed to act. Julian shook. He wasn’t sure if he was angry or sad. He felt everything and nothing at the same time. All of his emotions trying to drain through the tears that didn’t want to come while he felt hollow inside. He slipped to the floor, and clutched his box. It held most of who he was, and a couple rough drafts of a letter he’d never have the guts to deliver.


End file.
